A tree is not a forest. On its own, a tree cannot establish a consistent
local climate. It is at the mercy of wind and weather.
But together, many trees . . .
—Peter Wohlleben, The Hidden Life of Trees,
translated by Jane Billinghurst
Friends, Meeting. Twenty or thirty of us.
Taking your seat you could mistake us for
twenty or thirty travelers on a bus,
a London tube, an Amtrak car. Unless
you still prefer—need—to help your neighbor.
Friends Meeting. Twenty or so of us.
Chatty wren. Never been told, I guess,
filibustering’s not exactly kosher.
Twenty or thirty riders on a bus,
each unique with a common focus.
Taking a seat you could believe we were
a Quaker Meeting. Maybe thirty of us.
The Pope would fit right in. He’s one of us,
finding the face of God everywhere.
Twenty or thirty mortals on a bus.
Roots, we are learning, have an urge to nourish
their neighborhood. Find and feed each other.
Twenty or thirty people on a bus.
Friends Meeting. Couple dozen of us.
